The Phantom Scream
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "Her ankle throbbed. Pain coasting up through the shattered nerves and bruised flesh. – The consequences of her uncoordinated vault over the diner counter. A last ditch attempt to escape the crowd that had been all but nipping at her heels. Literally."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. - Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This is my fill response to prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink meme: _"_"_How do they die? Is it the walkers, or other survivors? Is there anyone who dies of old age, or someone who can't take it anymore? A 'what if' story." _*****Rated for: adult language, adult situations, gore, and character death.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**The Phantom Scream**

She shuddered into the curve of the wall, scrambling delicately along the underside of counter as she pushed herself out of sight. - Limbs barely ghosting along the crisp edged tile as she shoved herself into the farthest corner from the milling horde. Wriggling and squeezing until her back slammed into the unforgiving chrome siding and she could go no further.

Her lips trembled in a silent scream as the flat footed shuffle of the undead echoed from just behind the restaurant counter. The sound barely distracting her from the cold, unfeeling press of the filthy stainless steel siding that was already biting through the thin fabric of her long sleeve button up. Cutting right down to the quick like an over sharpened blade seeking the warmth of bare flesh. - But more then anything it made her remember how much she hated the cold.

_Cold hands.. Biting fingers.. Clammy skin.. Iron scented flesh.. Amy.._

Bile rose up in her throat as the sound of decaying flesh, husk dry tendons and long bared sinew echoed in the close the space. Slip sliding and grating as torn skin brushed against the crisp, moisture parched edges of equally as ravaged skin. – Slamming into one another as the horde milled around in confusion, unable to locate the prey they'd been chasing only a few seconds earlier.

Her ankle throbbed. Pain coasting up through the shattered nerves and bruised flesh. – The consequences of her uncoordinated vault over the diner counter. A last ditch attempt to escape the crowd that had been all but nipping at her heels. _Literally. _They'd been just around the corner when she'd caught sight of the counter and launched herself over it. Hitting the unforgiving, green and white tiles behind the serving stall a split second before her undead entourage had stumbled into the diner after her.

…_When Amy had been three she'd taken a heart stopping header down the stairs. They'd never figured out how she'd done it. Somehow wriggling through the baby gate their mother had put up to ward off just such an event. – But in the aftermath she'd been the first one to her side. Scooping her up in her arms and holding her close. Murmuring teenage nonsense into her ears as she'd bullshitted her way through most of the verses of "Under the Sea" from the Little Mermaid. Singing and rocking her in time with the rhythm until those pudgy little baby hands had curled into her hair. Fisting her curls as Amy had watched her raptly through her tears. A watery smile slowly working it's way across her trembling lips. - It had made her feel like she could do anything. ..Like she might just be the best big sister in world after all…_

She could almost hear Shane's hard edged voice in the back of her head, cussing her out for being so careless. And despite the bastard being long since gone, having taken off in the dead of night just like he'd promised a few weeks after Hershel's and the disaster that had been Fort Bennett, she couldn't help but admit that he was right. - Because this was all her fault.

She hadn't meant to. She'd just reacted. Turning the corner just a bit too confidently, outpacing T-dog who'd been cautiously following just off to the side. Still gesturing at her angrily with the barrel of his Remington a mere second before it happened, clearly miming for her to slow the _fuck _down. - To just _think _about what she was doing for one god damned second…

But instead she'd put her chin up and deliberately ignored him, tired of all the well meant, misogynistic coddling as she pushed forward. Forcing him to fall back, and shadow _her_ rather then risk making anymore noise then they already had too as they made their way though the back of the small hunting supply store they'd targeted for supplies. Unwilling to venture any further into its unlit depths until they were certain it was walker free.

But even then, she hadn't been expecting it when that walker had appeared. - Rounding the corner not ten centimeters right in front of her face, all gnashing teeth and nibbled off lips. It had been a gut reaction, a knee jerk type of stand still where her hand and forefinger had simply slammed down on the trigger without a second thought. Alerting every walker within half a mile to their position in less time then it took to blink.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. – And all for the sake of her fucking pride._

A geek brushed against the serving gate. The only entrance that led back to where she was hiding and the kitchens that lay beyond. Causing it to swing back and forth on rusty hinges as the geek in question looked down at it confusion. It's dry, blood stained fingers spidering down to probe the overstuffed cafe cushions and stained vinyl as it cocked its head at the sound. – She held her breath.

And out of the sliver of space between the two counters tops, she watched as the walker stumbled, pushed to the side as a trio of geeks jostled it from behind. The milling crowd growing by the second as yet more walkers crushed through the front entrance. – And that right there should have been the end of it. The walker _should _have just groaned and shuffled on. …_But it didn't._

It had been a woman once, a curvy, young thing sporting a trendy shoulder length, bob and a Shirley Temple mole on the corner of her upper lip. She was dressed in a pinstriped apron and black slacks. Something she abruptly realized was probably the waitressing uniform for the diner itself as she vaguely recognized the logo from outside. - Her suspicions were only confirmed a few seconds later when the geek shifted. With the dull sheen of a burnished gold name tag being clearly visible through the filthy curtain of her lanky auburn hair. The letters partially obscured by a long dried arc of blood splatter and gore.

…_The woman's name had started with an "A". – It could have been Amy..Or even Andrea. She just couldn't tell… _

She looked perfect at an angle. _Normal. _At least until she turned, because her entire front was _bathed_ in red. Her clothing was _stiff_ with it, crusted over in a rust red hue that seemed to encompass her very form. A mess of drip dried sprays that arrowed down from the shredded hole that marked where her right arm used to be. The torn sleeve left to flutter, limp and empty at her side. Flickering an old, fire hydrant red in the low light, the color flirting with the half darkened shadows as the horde fanned out around her. – Moaning in frustrated hunger.

But she only had eyes for one, the_ woman_, because after a long tottering moment the same geek slowly threaded her way back towards the gate. Staring down at it blankly before it suddenly leaned in. – It's pale, blood shot stare going strangely focused as it thrust a limp-wristed hand against the curved, wood paneled surface. Pushing against the gate until it swung forward once again. Flinging forward with a dull, echoing bang that made the other geeks whirl in place, chins tipping skyward, like a pack of hunting dogs scenting the air for prey.

She hissed a breath of air between her clenched teeth, horror rising up her throat like the acidic tang of fresh adrenaline and old bile. Like the moment of nausea that comes just before the gut wrenching spasms and the iconic, liquid based splatter of churned up food and stomach acid as it meets that of watered down porcelain.

- Because _this_ time the action had been _deliberate_.

_This_ time the geek had watched with growing interest as the gate had clicked back and forth. Following the movement until it slowed to a gradual stop. Growling gutturally as it stilled before it slumped forward and did it _again._ …_It knew…_

She clamped down on a horrified scream. But only just.

**A/N:** If there is interest I will finish this up with a second chapter. There was just a natural chapter break here. - Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them."__ - __George Eliot_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. - Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete set of warnings and related information. *****Rated for: adult language, adult situations, and character death.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**The Phantom Scream**

_**Chapter 2**_

She forced herself to calm, trying to school her breathing as her fingers skittered across the dirty, blood stained tile. But it didn't work. – It never worked. She'd never been able to turn herself off like Shane had. All that high and mighty crap he'd spouted during training, about turning yourself off and just letting everything else go? It was complete bullshit, and worst of all, he'd known it too. But the point was that he'd made her _believe_ it. Believe that one could simply kill without so much as a blink of remorse or self doubt.

_..That you could take a life, regardless of the circumstances and not hate yourself afterwards…_

Because it wasn't true. _Not really._ After all, it was one of the first things they taught you in preliminary law, that you could tell a lot about a person's guilt or innocence by the aftermath of a crime; by their reactions and inaction in the hours afterwards. Because even in the worst of situations, the healthy human mind naturally recoils from using deadly force. With the person in question often becoming violently ill, succumbing to shock or even disillusioned memories of the events that had taken place when the reality of their actions becomes too much to bear. - A not so subtle reminder that the difference between morality and perversion was not as simple as flicking off some inner, mental switch.

_Callous, hypocritical bastard. _ – The man could take his 'fresh start' and go choke on it as far as she was concerned.

The sound of the serving gate flicking back and forth brought her back. Startling her back into the present as the wood lined panel swished easily through the stagnant air. _Back and forth…Back and forth…Back an-… - _The metallic scent of her own fear rose. Offending her senses with its cloying stink even as her gun rose from her side, taking careful aim from across the close distance, on point for the sight of that ruined face, that stained apron and blouse.

_But nothing happened, at least nothing visceral at any rate…_

Instead the awkward, repetitious rhythm only served to egg her on as her frantic eyes scanned the room, desperate for another door, an exit. _Anything. _– All she needed was a chance. Was that_ really_ too much to ask?

Her heart leaped in her throat as her eyes caught sight of the kitchen entrance on the opposite side of the serving counter; glinting metallically in the blind filtered glare no more then ten meters away. But the hope that had fueled the discovery quickly waned, trickling out of her like a tub full of bath water getting sucked down the drain.

Because before she could even so much as even _twitch _towards it, her eyes stumbled, tripping over the cruel nature of reality as she blinked into the high afternoon glare. - The doors were bolted closed. The chrome surface smudged and pockmarked with a smattering of gory hand prints and an intelligible mess of illegible smears and half moon swipes. Its handles pulled shut by two deadlocks and least three loops of chain, effectively cutting off any chance of escape.

_Oh god…_

The finger resting against the trigger of her Ladysmith twitched. - Ghosting down the length like that of a promise.. _A favorite mistake.. _– With the compulsion to pull the trigger suddenly becoming almost unbearable. Mind screaming for her to just _do it_ before she lost her nerve..

The sound of growingly frustrated groans and the shuffle of old, weather beaten clothes rasped in the close space. Her teeth sunk deep into her lower lip as she bit back a silent prayer, biting down until she tasted the bitter tang of smelted copper on her tongue. - Because she didn't have that right, the right to ask for mercy or even forgiveness. She was going to die because she had made a conscious choice to push above her means. She'd gotten cocky. _Prideful._ And now she was going to pay for it.

But what was worse was that she didn't know where T-dog was. He'd been right behind her,_ running_. Huffing out curses like they were lungfuls of air as his tone had gone terror high and harsh. - Yelling that they had to make it to the roof, to the fire escape that ran along the length of the crumbling brick exterior they'd noticed as they'd pulled up in Carol's old Cherokee. - Something…_anything_. And then? ._.Nothing_. He'd just disappeared. As if in mockery of the phrase 'you blink and you miss it.'

- _Oh god._ What if they'd-…

A panicked breath hissed through her clenched teeth as she double checked her clip. She closed her eyes, shuttering the horror before it had time to spread. Not enough. It was never enough. – But she made herself double check regardless. Not that it really mattered. There were too many of them. She had six rounds and there were easily four or five times that many geeks. And that's if she was _lucky_.

_..When Amy had been six she'd decided that she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up. – Their mother had been thrilled, but she had just been bitter. Shoving Amy away when she'd flounced into her room a few days later. Fresh faced and excited from her first lesson, still dressed up in that neon blue leotard and a frilly pink tutu. Her brilliant blond hair pulled back in a slicked back bun that sported a multi-hued scrunchie to match. Evidence that Mom had probably gone and racked up all the credit cards. …Again. - It wasn't until a few years later that she realized why. It had been the first time that Amy had decided she wanted to be anything other then 'just like Andy' when she grew up…_

The smell of old death and oxidizing metal rose around her. But in spite of the offense she breathed deep, and just like that, an old sense memory clicked in place. Taking her back to that moment nearly a year ago, to a time where everything had suddenly seemed so simple. – _Back to Jenner, Jacqui, and the CDC…_

And if she closed her eyes she could almost pretend that she was back there, surrounded by the cool thrill of gasoline powered steel and the lingering stench of old death. – All but drowning in the sterile tang of antiseptic and barely muted sickness as she'd emptied her guts into that too clean toilet. Stomaching churning as the realization that everything really was over turned into something tangible. Morphing into a physical reaction that had her retching into the porcelain long after she'd run out of things to throw up, stomach stripped down to the bare lining as her body had burned hot. - Shaken down to the core with the finality of it all.

_It seemed ironically appropriate, considering the circumstances._

But most of all she tried to remember the surety of that moment. To recapture the feelings she'd had as she'd slid down to rest on that cool metallic floor. To know it as intimately as she had in those long, ageless moments trapped in the control room with Jenner, knees tucked to her chin as she'd waited. – Only vaguely listening as the others had yelled and begged. Misunderstanding the nature of the gift the man was offering.

_The feeling of making a choice in a choiceless time. _

It was ironic, but even now she couldn't quite bring herself to regret what Dale had done. After all how could she when all he'd wanted was for her to live? - She hadn't understood it at the time; she'd thought he was being selfish. And who knows, perhaps he was. Either way, the point was she'd _thought _she'd wanted to die, believed it even. - But in the end, despite it being one of the hardest things she'd ever had to admit to herself, she'd realized that Dale had been right.

…_She hadn't wanted that. Not really._

But the thing was, her father had always said that fate was a hard thing to shake. – And it was only now that she wondered if this was some higher power's way of telling her just that. Perhaps even laughing in her face as it presented her with the very same choice she'd made close to a year ago. _Her choice or the dead's._

She swallowed heavily, nearly choking on her own tongue as something startlingly reminiscent to that of betrayal rose thick in her throat. Sending a starburst of curling heat rocketing through her veins as anger was quick to follow. – Of all the fates in the world, this was to be hers? Even after all this time? After all she'd survived?

_...If there was ever a time to start believing in a high power, she supposed it **would** be now.._

**A/N:** Okay I lied; there will be one more part. Sorry, got inspired and then it got far too long! Next part should be up in a few days! - Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live._"- _Alexandre Dumas Père _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Nor do I own the rights to T.S Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men." - Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete set of warnings and related information. *****Rated for: adult language, adult situations, dark themes, and character death.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**The Phantom Scream**

_**Chapter 3**_

She bowed her head. Sending dirty, sunshine ringlets free falling into dead space as she rested her head against the cool metal slide. The curve of her cheek flirting with the barrel of her Ladysmith as her feverish skin greedily invited the chill. - Only vaguely registering the sound of the serving gate swinging back and forth in the close distance.

_She was out of time._

And idly, even as she doubled checked the safety, she wondered if her father would forgive her. She hoped that where ever he was, he'd understand. She hoped that _others _would understand. That Dale wouldn't-… The arc of her chin rose at the thought. Tipping upwards as she closed her eyes. Blocking everything else out save for the moment. – She hoped that he would understand. Understand that she didn't want to die, not like _that. _

…_Never like that._

She closed her eyes as she raised the gun to her temple. She tried to think of other things, _better _things as the cool muzzle sank deep into her messy curls, pressing against her skin with the heady rasp of tangy, metallic sharpness and sweat slicked skin. …Vulnerable skin. …_Human_.

She exhaled a long cleansing breath, the tips of her nails flirting with the curve of the trigger as she made peace with it. – Accepting her decision just as she'd done on the floor in the CDC. Long before Dale had come and _ruined_ it. Blinding her too all else but his broken eyes and good intentions. Back when it had all seemed so god damned simple..

And unbidden, just before her fingers slammed down on the trigger, her brain hummed. Going stark pictured and vivid with that of seemingly _ancient_ memory. – Her mind treating her to a chaotic, slide show runaway of her life, a variable crush of moments that made up the span of her years. Almost as if she was granting herself permission to look _back_ rather then to dwell on what was to come.

…_And for a long moment, it felt remarkably as though everything in her life had suddenly come full circle…_

Because she remembered the ZZ Top, high backed sneakers Amy had worn on her first day of high school. The blinding neon monstrosities clashing magnificently when set beside her own three inch black stilettos as she'd dropped her off on her way to the office. She remembered the way their dad had laughed as he'd tangoed her around the kitchen. His words of congratulation almost drowned out by their mother's happy sobs the day her acceptance letters to law school had arrived in the mail.

She remembered the look on Amy's face the day she'd graduated high school. – Her youthful face a glowing mess of awkward triumph and easy grace, all but oblivious to the fact that she could turn heads without even trying. Having eyes only for _her_ as she'd skipped off the main stage. Launching herself into her arms for a hug in the same way she'd done since she was small; joyously and completely without censure.

She remembered the first time Dale had made her laugh. His tone so flippant and down right grouchy as he'd navigated the RV through the ruins of what had probably been a very well to do neighborhood in suburban Atlanta the only a few days after he'd saved their lives on the interstate, that she couldn't _help _but snort out a laugh. It had been the first time that _anything _had seemed even remotely amusing since the whole world had suddenly tripped on its axis. Going to shit before the rest of the world had gotten the god damned memo.

- ..But most of all she remembered something Jenner had said…

"…_It sets the air on fire… No pain. - An end to sorrow, grief, regret. …Everything."_

And with that last thought her fingers slammed home. Coming down across the trigger like the sparking tendril of electricity that comes the split second before the lightening strike. Muting the air with that unique, percussive rush as the sky willingly cleaved itself in two. - Welcoming the flames.

Her heart stopped. Skipping far too many beats as the silence surrounding her slowly began to grow old.. – She blinked; mind not quite comprehending the reality of the moment. She didn't understand. She couldn't-…

…_No_..

Because the hollow click of a misfire was all that met her disbelieving ears. The firing pin shattering ineffectively against the meticulously maintained piston as the lever slammed home. Mocking her with the echoes of what _could_ have been as the undead shrieked in excitement and the serving gate crashed open for the last time. - Moaning and hissing in the close space like the first notes of some terrible, ungodly chorus.

And somewhere, perhaps no more then ten meters above her, through a veritable fortress of mouldering dry wall, plaster, and brick. Safe and sound from the roving hordes, T-dog stopped in his tracks. Jaw going horror slack and pained as the sound of that single, anguished scream lilted off into the soft summer breeze.

He couldn't help but turn away as the cry warbled, pitching high in agony and horror as it echoed up through the vents. Pulling tight and pain wracked for a few heart stopping seconds before the sound of the undead drowned her out. - Cutting her off in mid scream without even so much as a single, spluttering pause…

– Almost as if she hadn't been there at all.

And as he stood there, head half bowed on that gravely, tarmac striped roof. All grease rich and oil slick from a least a three or four decades of good old fashioned Georgian cooking. He was reminded of the poetry unit in his high school English class nearly two decades previous. - Recalling a line, the _last_ line from T.S Eliot's iconic post war poem, "The Hollow Men."

It was phrase that had likely been reused and recycled in popular culture and general discourse ever since it had first been recited from verse. - And while he didn't know exactly why. What he _did_ know was that as the lingering echoes of that pitching cry were slowly swallowed into that of the coming dusk; he was _sure_ that such a line had _never_ seemed more appropriate..

"_..This is the way the world ends…_ _Not with a bang but a whimper…"_

**A/N:** This is the second time I have written this kind of prompt. It was definitely easier then the first. Yet, for this one I am pretty sure I am going to the special hell. My muse is a terrible, terrible person. – Either way please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_It is a blessing to die for a cause, because you can so easily die for nothing._" –_Andrew_ Young.


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